My mom Cathy has been determined to declutter our humble home. We love living here. We don’t want to move to a bigger place. I think I once had a yard to hang out in and I hated it. I was born to be an indoor dog. Give me a bed anytime.
So as we get ready for the holiday season, my mom shudders at the thought of getting gifts from people. “More STUFF,” she says. My Uncle Lance reminded Cathy she has an Amazon Wish List, which she keeps forgetting to update. “That’s different,” she says. “It’s STUFF I want. Anyway, books are fine. They’re easy to sell or give away if I don’t want them.”
I have to admit she is right. It seems like every year we get junk. Calendars. Subscriptions to publications my mom doesn’t have time to read. Little statues of cute cats and dogs. Food we don’t eat. And more.
One year my mom spent $17 to ship an unwanted gift to her colleague in Canada. She had no use for the gift but didn’t want to give it away. “I think the people who gave me the gift really wanted it for themselves,” she says. “It’s sad.”
“This year,” my mom says, “I am hoping people will not give us gifts. They can make a nice donation in my name to an animal charity or cultural place. (NOT the US Humane Society, though). They can go to my Amazon gift list. They can give me gift certificates.”
Okay, mom, but don’t get too carried away. I need a new leash, remember? Something fit for a princess.
My mom read my mind. “Gracie, I’m giving just a few gifts this year. You get a leash. You don’t need a coat. Everybody else is getting pottery I made during my first term at the Community Center.”
That’ll teach ’em. My mom is the worst potter on the planet. They will never, ever reciprocate. And that’s good. We’re getting a little crowded here. I would like more space in front of my crate.
What’s your gift story?